Espresso
by Black Rose Heart
Summary: A refreshing, energizing tale of a jaded businessman who thought he'd seen it all; and the young barista who showed him just how wrong he was. USUK, slight Franada, T for language. Human AU.
1. 1: In which they are introduced

_Espresso: A refreshing, energizing tale of a jaded businessman who thought he'd seen it all; and the young barista who showed him just how wrong he was._

_Rated M for possible future smut and Artie's language XD Enjoy!_

* * *

It was a cold, bleak morning in D.C. The constant drizzle that had enveloped the city the past few days gave rise to a gray mist that was cast over everything indifferently. People walked by, splashing dreary puddles of rainwater, shuffling along on their early commute. The concrete sidewalk seemed to be the only object that never changed amid the throng of business workers.

Arthur Kirkland was one of those business men, shuffling along in the never-ending crowd. His clean suit was mirrored in those of everyone else, making him feel like part of the background himself. _God, I need a jump start this morning, _thought the British gentleman, catching sight of a convenient coffee shop.

The marquee out front declared the shop to be "Liberty and Justice Coffee and Drinks", the words in a dramatic font over an American Flag. Patriotic spirit had apparently not died here, as the red, white and blue were flying outside, giving a hint at the interior of the small bar. Arthur sighed; Americans would never cease to amaze him in their strange ways, but seeing no other option, he pushed open the door. A bell jingled as he entered.

Inside, full murals of country landscapes decorated the walls, in fact, and eagle on an olive branch looked so real it was bound to fly off at any second. The rich smell of coffee scented the air. A large bar of finely-polished wood hosted only a few others, sipping a brew while leaning over the counter and a group over at a matching wooden table. Sitting behind the bar, hand-grinding beans, was the perkiest barista the Brit had ever seen. He was young, maybe 20 or so, with ash-blonde hair that had a stubborn cowlick in it and bright blue eyes framed by square glasses. The coffee-stained apron around his neck laid over a typical black t-shirt and jeans. Laughingly, he was chatting with the customers, making their days a bit brighter with his megawatt smile.

"Morning, sir! What can I get you?" the worker said cheerily, pointing at the towering sign of beverage choices; obviously he had the benefit of coffee on demand. Arthur stammered a quick "hello" before seating himself at the bar and picking out a black tea from the list. As the attendant jotted down his order, he caught a glance at the name tag. _Alfred F. Jones_

"Don't get much guys for tea 'round here, mostly they're full-blown caffeine addicts." The young barista commented, pulling a jar of tea leaves from under the counter. He expertly seeped the tea and poured it for an appreciative Englishman who was resisting the urge to correct his grammar.

Winking, the young blonde said with a fake and rather bad British accent, "One sugar or two, good sir?"

Arthur bit back a snarky comment and replied in his own natural British, "One, please. I'm not too fond of those sweet Southern teas."

The barista's blue eyes lit up when he heard the voice. "Wow, I don't get a lot of actual British people here. You'd have to be the first."

Sipping his tea, Arthur sighed. "Well, this has to be the first time I've been here. Actually, I don't believe I've seen this shop before." He sounded slightly condescending.

"That's 'cause we just set up a week ago! It's been doing a brisk business, mostly 'cause we're competing with a lot of Starbucks around here, but we have lower prices so I'm sure we'll win the turf war." Alfred chatted, socializing effortlessly. Usually, Arthur would have left by now, but he wanted to rest for a bit.

"Yes, indeed." Arthur replied tiredly, looking out the front window at the shifting crowd, reminding him of his own dull job, and for the slightest second, wondering what it would be like to work here. Quickly, he dispelled the notion with a sip of tea. _It isn't half bad, _he thought, _fairly good tea, but it's rather easy to tell that the heart of this shop is set on coffee. _

"Though I must say," Arthur said, adding to the conversation, "one doesn't encounter many baristas in a coffee shop who can properly brew tea leaves."

"Ah, you can tell?" Alfred smiled, as if Arthur had guessed the correct answer to a question, "My mother loved the stuff. Let's just say I got pretty good at making tea."

"Indeed. I take it the coffee is even better?" It was unusual for him to talk to complete strangers like this. Alfred, on the other hand, seemed overly friendly to a fault. Making conversation was easy around the talkative American.

"You bet!" Alfred's eyes lit up when Arthur mentioned the coffee, "I used to work in my Pop's store, and he knew all sorts of stuff about coffee. One of the first ones he showed me how to make," the barista pointed up at the menu, "was called 'cowboy coffee'. Y'see, I was kinda obsessed with being a cowboy as a kid, so he thought it'd be funny to teach me it. My mom never forgave him for letting a six-year old have some."

Arthur pictured a hyper child running around. Then, he remembered his job. "I can imagine. Thanks for the tea, but I must be off." He checked his watch, making sure he could get to work on time if he left then.

Alfred smiled and said, "Sure, I'll ring you up and you can 'be off'." The fake British accent made Arthur want to groan. Paying for his drink, the Brit opened the door, ringing the bell on the door as he left. He was in a hurry to stay on schedule and should have no time to talk to coffee shop employees.

The barista smiled. He hoped this wasn't the last he'd see of him. He wandered took a few new orders, pressing the espresso machine with a flourish and setting cups down. Wiping his hands on a cloth, the American wondered when he'd be able to serve tea again.

* * *

After work, the sky was a smoggy orange as the sun lit up the remaining clouds in the sky. Lights came on and illuminated the streets and sidewalks, simultaneously darkening the shady alleys. Arthur walked out of his building, planning to catch the subway back to his apartment complex. That was, until someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Well, what's a nice boy like you doing put this late?" A voice purred in his ear right before Arthur slapped the hand back, only to be rewarded with a creepy chuckle. "_Non, mon cher, _I won't let you get away that easily."

Arthur was pushed into an alleyway, facing the wall and breathing hard out of anxiety. He didn't know what was happening. What did this stranger plan on doing? He started trying to jerk out of the hold, but the mysterious man just chuckled in the same way as before, holding firm. Arthur was panicked, he wanted to scream but before he could the stranger placed a hand over his mouth, muting any attempts to call for help.

_What the bloody hell is going on? _Arthur though hazily as he felt tears of desperation well up in his eyes. He felt a hand undoing his belt and tried thrashing again, only to be pressure-pointed into submission. Nervous system in shock, he froze.

"Stop!" A new voice yelled, accompanied by a hard kick to the face for the would-be molester. Cursing, the captor stumbled away, releasing his hold on Arthur, who instantly broke away and ran out of the alley into the man who had just saved him.

He was wearing gray jogging clothes, which was about all Arthur noticed before he grabbed Arthur out into the streetlight. "Come on, let's run!" The rescuer half-pulled the dazed Arthur down the block, stopping at a bench on the sidewalk. The victim slumped onto the metal seat, breathing deeply as he tried to regain his composure. His savior sat down next to him and put his arm around the shaking Brit.

"I guess you're lucky I was on my evening jog, otherwise I'd be back at the shop." The hero said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt down so that his face was revealed. He was a blonde, wearing square glasses containing bright blue eyes. It was the barista from the coffee shop that morning.

"Th..Thank you." Arthur stammered, unsure of how to react.

"I saw you on my jog and recognized you from this morning, and when you got pushed into the alley I sped up and tried to help. Looks like it worked." Alfred said, and Arthur was very aware of the arm over his shoulders, but that could be simply because of his close scrape.

After a few minutes, the Brit was composed enough to speak. "We…We should call the police-"

"Nah, the guy's probably long gone by now. You okay?" Arthur looked up at a concern-stricken face.

"I'm just fine. I'd better get home." Alfred jumped up to help right the unsteady Brit, who was trying to walk to the subway station.

"No, you're not fine. I'll come with you. My brother's taking this shift, so I'm free to help innocent British people get home." He winked, and Arthur grumbled.

"All right. I guess its fine." Arthur replied, making his way for the underground transport with a helpful American in tow.

It was surprisingly less cramped than expected on the train Arthur had taken, which he attributed to having narrowly missed evening rush. He sat in a seat while Alfred stood nearby, holding on to the top rail.

"So, I never really got to introduce myself." The barista said, holding out a hand, "I'm Alfred Jones."

"Arthur Kirkland." They shook hands; then Alfred asked a question.

"So, do you an apartment out this way?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, it's not too far, so I usually walk to work."

Alfred's grin became a bit mischievous, "Got anyone waiting for you at home?"

The Brit sighed. "Probably just my cat, Crumpet. He's really my brother's but I took him in once Peter grew up and went to college."

"How many siblings? I've just got one, Matthew. We kinda co-own the shop, but Mattie really does a lot of the paper work while I do the whole employee bit."

"Ah, well there's four altogether, but I try not to think about all of them at once. Splitting headache." Arthur wondered why it was so easy to talk to Alfred. For someone he had just met that morning, he was awfully friendly.

"Can't imagine having so many. Mostly I had a ton of cousins. Fifty, can you believe it?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Fifty cousins?" That was pretty impressive.

The barista smiled. "Yeah, 'cause my dad was one of five kids, and so was my mom. I had a whole bunch of family. We joked that there was one for each state. One of them _was _named Virginia, the oldest."

Arthur's lip formed a bit of a smile. "Quite interesting. I suppose you don't have a cousin named Minnesota though. Or Oklahoma."

Alfred chuckled a little. "We came close. Okie was his middle name."

A robotic voice interrupted the conversation. "Now arriving. Please do not block the doors and allow others to get past…."

Arthur got up. "This is my stop."

"I'll come with you. I should be able to get back in time, and if I come there early I always get roped into doing accounting that Mattie hasn't finished."

"All right." Arthur was fairly sure he could trust Alfred, after all, if saving someone doesn't qualify for their trust, what does?

They stepped off the subway and walked up to street above. It was more or less a nondescript D.C scenery, with the Washington Monument visible in the far distance and apartment complexes scattered around the sides of the road.

Arthur walked up to one named "Kensington Place". Walking inside, Alfred looked around at the interior. It seemed like your basic décor, a few fake trees, a sitting area, some old magazines. He followed Arthur up to the second floor, when the Brit took out a key and clicked it into the lock of apartment 203.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, thank you for helping me."

Alfred nodded. "Anytime. Wanna come by the shop tomorrow? I'll have tea ready."

"I guess I wouldn't mind." The door opened.

"See you then." Alfred turned and walked away, back to his coffee shop that, come the next morning, would have a pot of black tea ready for a visitor.

Riding back on the subway, listening to the rumble of cars against the metal rails, Alfred smiled. Now just to take the midnight shift and help his poor brother out.

* * *

The next morning, Arthur woke up at the usual 7:30. Arthur groaned as he got out of bed and dressed, tying his dark green tie in the typical Windsor knot.

Bending down to scratch his cat behind the ears, he paused before going to the kitchen. Crumpet was a Scottish fold cat, which meant that his ears comically bent down and gave him a characteristic look. He poured himself a bowl of Cap'n Crunch. Ever since he had first attempted cooking, the reviews from his family and friends had been less than satisfactory to say the least, so he decided to rely on simple things for breakfast.

Quickly eating the small meal and feeding his grateful cat, Arthur finally began his walk to work, descending the stair and picking up the daily routine, but this time, with a small difference.

The sky was a light morning blue. Bustling cars and taxis made a river of moving vehicles that mirrored the steady stream of pedestrians. The Liberty and Justice Coffee and Drinks sat where it had been yesterday, still decked out with the star-spangled banner and the bold smell of morning roast attracting it's fair share of energy-depleted workers.

Arthur walked in, surprised at the increase of people. There were a good ten or so more people sitting at tables, sipping drinks and resting among the paintings on the walls. Alfred's head appeared from behind the bar. "Arthur! Hey, it's started filling up in here after all! Come and sit down!" Alfred then took a few orders from oncoming customers and started pouring cups of espresso from a bronze machine, dumping ice, chocolate and coffee into a Frappuccino blender, and filtering drinks from a large pot. When the rush ended, he grabbed a white teapot and poured some into a cup and handed it to Arthur.

"Well that's quite the coffee making process, Alfred." Arthur said, sipping his tea.

"Is it ever." Alfred sighed. "I always know I can handle it, but it's still kind of a rush when everyone starts ordering."

"Frankly, I never knew there were so many ways of making a cup of joe." Arthur glanced over at the machines coating the countertop among bags of coffee.

"You'd be surprised. I sure was when my Pop showed me." The doorbell jingled and Alfred groaned a little. "More people. We're running low on French vanilla."

The American rushed over, took orders, pushed buttons, pour water, and began grinding coffee by hand. Arthur watched.

"Isn't it a bit unusual to grind them by hand?" In addition to grinding them by hand, Alfred seemed to be doing a jig as he turned the crank of what looked like a peppermill.

"Well sure, but when I need a proper coarse grain this is the only way to do it. Machines do it too fine." Humming a tune, Alfred was hopping around behind the bar, alternating his weight on his back and front foot.

"But, er, I didn't know you had to dance while doing it." Arthur said, looking on as several patrons noticed and giggled a little.

"You don't have to, but I always think it makes the coffee taste better." Alfred winked and stopped the jig, dumping the grains into a pot of boiling water. "Cowboy coffee. Coarse grain only." Some customers clapped and Alfred took a deep bow, smiling brightly.

"That is the most ridiculous dance I've ever seen." Arthur just shook his head.

"Then you haven't seen me dance that much." Alfred chuckled and sat down behind the bar, wiping his hands on a towel.

"I can't say I have. I only met you yesterday, remember?"

"Ah, yeah. That's true. Oh hey, give me your opinion on this, I'm trying to convince Mattie, but wouldn't it be cool to have a radio or something playing music in here? Right now it's just awkward silence."

_Anyplace with you in it is anything by silent. _"I suppose it might be nice."

Alfred got up. "That's what I said, but Mattie started going all old man on me, about how we don't need music. That's my bro, all right."

Arthur thought for a second. "But knowing you, you're going to get one anyways, correct?"

"Of course. Maybe even a live band, now that wouldn't be too bad."

"I doubt a band would fit into here. Quite the dreamer, you are." Arthur took another sip of his black tea, enjoying the flavor and warmth it brought.

"That's what Mattie says too." Alfred slumped down over the bar like a heavy drinker. "I guess I'm just that kind of person. Well, hey, when you're 21 the sky's the limit. If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?"

Arthur stirred some sugar into his tea. "I'm 25. Not too old."

"Could've fooled me. You act like an old guy." Alfred said, pointing at Arthur's forehead and the wrinkles there.

"Oh, come off it, you git." Arthur scowled and drank some more tea.

"What's a git anyways? I've always heard British shows use it, but I don't know what it means." Alfred said.

"It's more or less an idiot, moron, ignoramus…"

"Okay, I get it. What about 'bloody'? What's up with that?"

"I guess…"Arthur scratched his head, "It's similar to adding more emphasis."

"Really?"

They ended up having a rather pleasant conversation, interrupted by new orders which Alfred rushed to take care of. Arthur checked his watch and realized he was going to be late, but left with a smile on his face. It wasn't a bad thing, knowing Alfred.

The barista picked up a mug and wiped it a cloth as the doorbell jingled and Arthur left. He cast a glance over at his teapot, sitting among the coffee implements. It seemed like one peaceful object among the hustle and bustle of the shop. Sighing, he hoped Arthur would visit again soon.

* * *

A/N: I've got a good bit of this written, and new chapters as soon as I can manage. Feel free to R&R, I will hand out imaginary intangible cookies to those who do! XD


	2. 2: In which a bar is visited

A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed! Invisible cookies to all! I decided that the mugger is just going to be a random French guy, not France, but I might go back and revise him to be a random mugger, since that version of Francis doesn't fit the storyline.

* * *

Over the next week, Arthur found himself visiting the coffee shop every work day, getting a cup of tea and chatting with Alfred about whatever was on the boy's mind. They'd developed a tentative friendship in the coffee-scented air, conversing about everything from new music to Halloween costumes. Mostly, it was Alfred who carried the conversation along, due to his inability to shut up. It did come off as annoying sometimes, but the Brit didn't mind as much as he usually would because it gave him time to drink tea.

One day, Alfred offered up a rather interesting proposal. "Why don't you and I go out drinking sometime? Maybe after work today?" He looked back with puppy-dog eyes, obviously trying to use his cuteness to his advantage.

Arthur made a slight sound of disapproval and folded his arms over his chest. The big, adorable eyes would not work on him this time. "I'm not going to get drunk only to have a bloody hangover the next day."

"C'mon, have a little fun! When was the last time you ever went somewhere with someone?" Alfred wheedled, poking the Brit on the shoulder.

Arthur turned pink. It _had _been a while since he'd gone out with anyone, date or otherwise. "That's none off your business. Sod off, American," he blustered, "and anyways, I've been told I'm not a great drunk."

Alfred chuckled. "Oh, so you're turning me down 'cause you can't hold your liquor, huh?"

That was it. Insults to his alcohol tolerance were one thing Arthur couldn't take lying down. "Fine, just to prove it to an ignorant twit like you, I'll accept!"

"Yay!" Alfred clapped his hands like a little kid, making Arthur groan at his childish ways. "Well then Artie, see you at the Eifel Tower bar around 8!"

"Don't call me Artie!" Arthur frowned while the American gave a flippant wink before heading down the bar to serve orders.

Rubbing his head, Arthur thought to himself, _How the bloody hell did I end up agreeing to that? Well, I guess a bit of intoxication never hurt anyone…at least, not too badly._

The bar itself was rather nice, a bit dark with the smell of cigarette smoke and, strangely roses, in the air. Many fine wines among other hard beverages sat on the other side of the bar, while a charming French bartender served every glass with a wink and a smile.

It hadn't taken too long at the bar for Arthur to start questioning his religion after having only a bit of rum.

"Geez, and I thought you were exaggerating…" Alfred sighed as he looked over at the completely drunken and ornery Brit sitting next to him, hiccupping.

"The bloody hell do you care, Mr. Unicorn?" Arthur muttered as mythical creatures danced before his tired emerald eyes. Alfred smiled. The Brit was rather cute when he was this vulnerable. It was time for a game of Drunk Talk.

"So, Mr. Kirkland, how do you like the tea?" Alfred probed, hoping for positive feedback.

" 'S fairly good for 'mericans." Arthur murmured. The American nodded appreciatively.

"Okay, so how do you feel about the coffee shop?"

" 'S not that bad, sort of warm an' nice." The drunken man had no idea he what he was really saying, the alcohol had flooded his mind and was making him give answers without thinking.

"All right then, now for the million-dollar question…" Alfred tapped the imaginary drumroll, "How do you feel about me?"

Arthur sat up. He had understood this question. Due to his incoherence and utter intoxication, all he could do was ramble. "Well, 's not like I like you that much, not that I don't like you, but not saying I really _like _like you, more like you're a best mate or something of the…oh damn it all." He said as his cheeks flushed.

Alfred smiled. He really wanted to push that further. "No, go on, explain exactly what you mean by 'like' me." Raising his eyebrows suggestively, the American sent Arthur spinning inside his own dizzy head.

" 's not really…'s jus'….not, but 's…" Arthur stuttered, and before anyone could hear what he said next, he passed out.

The Frenchman behind the counter just sighed dreamily. "Aw, zey are ze cutest when zey are asleep, _non_? But, unfortunately, if he does not wake up soon, you will have to take him out. _Oui_?"

Alfred smiled. "Yeah, I'll do that. See ya, Francis."

"Say _bonjour _to Matthew for me."

Alfred nodded and, hoisting the unconscious Brit onto his back, he made for the apartment in Kensington Place.

Arthur woke up with a familiar pounding headache. Rubbing his temples and sitting up, he realized that the drab walls surrounding him were those of his apartment. _How'd I get here?_

Just then, his unspoken question was answered when he saw the sleeping form next to him. It was a face accompanied by the smell of coffee and tea, of the hubbub of mindless chatter, and of a winking blue eye from the other side of the counter.

"Alfred…" Arthur rubbed the shoulder of the American in an attempt to wake him. Alfred just sighed in his sleep and rolled over; not the result the impatient Brit was looking for.

"Get up, you git! You can't spend the night here!" Arthur hissed, trying not to disturb the neighbors.

Alfred cracked open the lid of one sky-blue eye. "Why not? I had to carry you all the way here. I'm tired."

"You bloody plonker! All right, fine." Arthur settled back in the bed, pulling more covers over himself.

As if Alfred could sleep. The American was secretly waiting for Arthur to pass out again just so he could look at his sleeping face. It hadn't been that bad, as the bar was just a few blocks down from the Englishman's home. Eventually, the lovely substance known as alcohol worked its magic yet again and Arthur fell asleep.

Alfred sighed happily. Today was getting pretty good. As he rested in the double bed, with Arthur snoring only a few inches away and Mattie covering the night shift again.

Unexpectedly, he felt warmth on his arm, and realized that Arthur, drunk and asleep, was hugging him like a teddy bear. It was just his arm, but Alfred took his chance and pulled the unconscious Brit closer to him, wrapping his legs in his. Arthur sighed lightly in his sleep, which made Alfred smile.

Their faces were dangerously close, and he so wanted to kiss the Arthur's fair complexion, ruffle his hair, but he didn't dare. Not just yet.

Closing his eyes, and despite his racing heartbeat, he managed to calm down enough so that exhaustion and peace washed over him, rendering him completely asleep, still so close to Arthur.

Arthur awoke with a painful headache the next day. So he decided it must have been a side-effect when he felt that he was sleeping entangled with another person. Not even bothering to open his eyes, he tried to rest through the pounding in his skull. Then, he realized that the being next to him was not a hallucination.

"Gah! Bloody hell!" Arthur jumped out of bed, only to collapse on the floor due to his alcohol-induced weakness.

This particularly British curse woke up Alfred, who lazily rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching out his arms. "Hey, g'morning Artie."

"What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" Arthur yelled, not caring if he woke up the neighbors.

"Hm, well, after carrying you home after you passed out last night," Alfred started, only to be interrupted by the Brit.

"What in the bloody hell do you mean, passed out? What happened?" He was battling a ferocious pain in his head, so he was ruder than usual to the young barista.

"I mean, you're going to wake the whole street up if you keep shouting like that, so hear me out." Alfred said quietly, calming the raging Englishman down for a few seconds. "So it's like I said, we went out drinking last night, you got drunk on the first glass of rum, passed out, and I had to carry you back here. Like that." Alfred folded his arms and nodded, looking satisfied with himself.

"Well," Arthur rubbing his temples, trying to dispel the aftermath of drinking, "I guess I must thank you for taking me back here, but shouldn't you be home?"

Alfred sighed. His Artie was the worst drunk in the world, vulgar, whiney, and couldn't remember anything afterwards. "I was tired after carrying you, so I kinda crashed here for the night."

Arthur frowned. "Won't your brother wonder where you've gone?"

"Nah, I called him last night." Alfred got out of the bed, stretched, and yawned again. "Got any grub?"

"There's a fridge in the kitchen." Arthur pointed, then pulled the blanket from the bed and huddled under it. Alfred looked over quizzically.

Anticipating the American's question, Arthur said from underneath the sheet, "I realized a while ago that this helps me cope with hangovers."

Rolling his eyes, even if the Brit couldn't see him, Alfred rubbed the blanket on the head. The blanket immediately retaliated, causing the American to chuckle and go to find the fridge.

Some fridge. Lumps of charcoal sat at the bottom (Alfred guessed that these were the attempts of Arthur's cooking, he had told him he couldn't prepare food to save his life), a few energy drinks decorated the top shelves, but Alfred managed to find a carton of eggs that looked all right, finding a pan on the countertop near the tiny gas range. A spatula was next to it, which saved him the trouble of rifling through the small wooden drawers of the kitchenette. As he started cracking eggs, a cat came up from the hallway, half-hiding behind the corner. Alfred smiled and said to the cat, "So you must be Crumpet. I've heard about you." The cat ran back down the short entry hall, shy. _Just like his master_, thought Alfred.

Arthur had dragged himself to the table just to see what Alfred was doing, still covered by his drab, olive-green blanket. Plunking himself down in a small wooden chair, he heard the hiss of the beginnings of an omelet. Combatting the pounding in his brain, he barely registered the sound.

The young co-owner of a coffee shop finally finished making breakfast, which he sat down on the table with a happy smile. "Okay, eat up!"

Arthur mumbled something about "you didn't have to" before sloughing the blanket off himself so that he could fill his stomach. The second he bit into it, he realized that Alfred's restaurant skills went beyond coffee. He made a weak, appreciative noise as he bit into the eggs.

Alfred was watching him, chin resting on his hands, waiting for praise. His glasses were a bit lopsided, giving him the look of a bedhead professor. Blue eyes watched the hungover Brit as he ate, until said Brit looked up and scowled.

"The food's not bad, but why are you staring at me?" He grumbled, eating more.

"You just look funny when you eat." Alfred said rather cheerfully, which begged another question.

"And why aren't you hungover? You drank too." Arthur took another bite of chewy omelet.

"I didn't drink that much, plus you got drunk so quickly I didn't really have the chance too."

Alfred poked the Brit, "You really can't hold you liquor, can you?"

Arthur angrily muttered something, sitting in the quiet, ordinary apartment. The silence stretched across the linoleum floor as conversation drained away. When the breakfast was finished, Arthur dragged himself back to his bedroom, planning to spend the rest of the day there. Alfred followed him there, explaining he had left his shoes there.

The floor creaked as Arthur trudged down the hall, finally collapsing on his bed, pulling the blanket over his face and groaning. Alfred sighed happily. This was the worst hangover on the least amount of alcohol he had ever seen, and it was so fun to see how Artie acted.

Lacing up his worn running shoes, Alfred tried talking to the pained Brit, "I'll probably come around later to make sure you didn't die here, so expect some tea later."

Mumbling "git", Arthur huddled under his covers. Alfred smiled, leaving the apartment and gently closing the door behind him. He'd have to make a whole pot of black tea and bring it over during his break.

When he passed through the star-spangled doors of Liberty and Justice Coffee and Drinks, a tired Matthew gave him the cold shoulder as he entered. Sighing, Alfred threw on his apron and started washing mugs. "So, what'd I miss?"

Matthew replied in a cold tone, "Oh, only me taking far too many shifts. What were you doing, Alfred?" He questioned.

"Well, remember Arthur?"

"How could I not? You talk about him every day!"

"Yeah. Well, I had to carry him home because he passed out drunk…." Alfred explained, making Matthew sigh dramatically.

"God, Alfred, choose a better guy to date. This one's too grumpy." Matthew teased his brother.

"That's just part of his charm…" The barista sighed dreamily, then went back to brewing coffee.

* * *

A/N: I can't write a USUK without Arthur getting drunk at least once XD I know y'all are flailing from my sheer amount of fluff in this one, but it gets better I'll update the next chapter tomorrow! R&R, flame me all you want for having seemingly Francis mugger X(


	3. 3: In which tea is delivered

A/N: See, this is where the slight Franada comes in! I knew I'd get to it some time . More good stuff in this chapter, no smut I promise :)

* * *

Arthur heard a knock on the door, which almost blended in with the pounding of his head. "Come in."

Alfred opened the door, noticeable by the loud creaking sound it made. A plastic travel cup made a thump as it hit the table. "It's me, Artie!" He pushed his glasses back up on his nose; they had fallen down while he jogged there with hot tea in hand.

Hearing no reply, Alfred walked into the bedroom where a grouchy green blanket crouched in a corner of the room. Alfred clucked his tongue, lifting the sheet off the protesting Brit as he grabbed him in a bridal hold and placed him on the bed.

"You'll never get better if you don't rest." Alfred admonished, wagging his finger like an old housewife.

"I can't bloody well sleep if this damn headache is going on." Arthur scowled, but lay on the bed, devoid of energy.

"Well sit up, 'cause I brought you some tea. One sugar, as requested." Alfred handed him a cup, letting the Englishman drink a bit of his favorite beverage. The American looked on expectantly, sitting next to him on the bed.

"So? How is it?" Arthur sipped it. "Not bad. For a bloody American."

Alfred smiled, ignoring the insult and concentrating on the praise. "Hey, though, do you really not remember anything past getting to the bar? You had some interesting drunk talk."

Arthur turned red, irritated. "No, I was intoxicated, how could you expect me to remember?"

"Well, 'cause I asked you how you liked the tea then, and you said pretty much the same thing." Alfred chuckled. "Y'know that old thing, En Vino Veritas?"

"Oh god. Rather the other way around when I'm drunk. I can say the most nonsensical things." Arthur hung his head.

"Then I asked you how you liked the coffee shop. Any ideas what you said?"

"Well," taking a hunch, Arthur said, "it's not bad either, sort of pleasant and warm."

Alfred clapped his hands delighted like a little kid. "You got it? Know what I asked next?"

"Of course not, what?"

"I asked you," Alfred paused a bit, building up some suspense just because he knew it would make Arthur get angry, "what you thought of me." He winked at Arthur.

Immediately, the Brit turned a shade of red that would have put a ruby to shame. "Well, you're nice, but it's not as if you're nice in that way, or that I particularly like that brand of niceness, not that I like you…"

Alfred smiled warmly. "You said the same thing then too. I have an answer now, though." He leaned over and kissed a surprised Arthur lightly on the lips. Arthur blushed furiously and put his hand over his mouth, backing up.

"I-I…." He stuttered, trying to think of something to say, but the blue-eyed blonde just wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close to his warm chest. Arthur could feel his own heart thumping, from the close proximity and the kiss, so loud he could swear Alfred could hear it.

"Shhh…." Alfred stroked Arthur's hair with a coffee-stained hand, ruffling his golden hair. Arthur was clinging to Alfred, and the American could feel spots of warmth where the Brit had buried his face in his shoulder.

"Alfred, I… I-"

"No, it's okay. I shouldn't have done that. I guess…" Alfred trailed off a bit, "I guess I've wanted to do that since the day I met you."

Arthur muttered something quietly. "Git…"

Alfred ran his hand down Arthur's neck. "Does that mean you don't mind?"

As a response, Arthur just hugged the barista tighter. Alfred laughed lightly. Arthur was so cute when he was like this. "Then you won't mind this….?"

He tilted Arthur's chin up a bit, making contact with Arthur's brilliant green eyes and staring into them before gently kissing him, gradually pushing farther into it.

Arthur responded by letting himself fall into it, feeling as though Alfred was the only thing in the world, the only thing that mattered. He felt a tongue push at the bottom of his lip, asking for entrance. Arthur obliged, opening his mouth slightly and letting Alfred's warm, wet tongue inside him, tangling with his own and melting him inside.

Alfred finally broke away, both slightly breathless and pulses racing. Arthur looked back at him, almost helpless in his arms, his gaze saying "A bit more?"

The American nodded slightly, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling him into another passionate kiss. Arthur felt his back hit the mattress as Alfred trailed his mouth along Arthur's neck, nipping and licking as he went, causing Arthur to moan in lust. He took off his own black t-shirt, making heat radiate off his torso, pulling Arthur closer. As he moved down, Alfred almost seemed to devour Arthur, marking every exposed bit of skin, hot against his own.

They were so close, just feeling each other, being nearer than ever before and trying to tell the other just how much they wanted him. Arthur was hung-over, tired and hungry, but he had never felt so alive. Every part of him was tingling from stimulation, giving him an overwhelming sense of bliss. Alfred pushed him into another kiss, tasting the bitter black tea on his tongue and ruffling the golden hair.

Once the need for each other had died down and the hunger in their eyes diminished, Alfred lay next to Arthur on the bed, not unlike the position in which he had woken up that morning. He kissed the Brit's forehead, making him shiver a bit. Pulling him into an embrace, Arthur wrapped his arms around the wide back of the shop barista. He scent was like the coffee shop, warm and earthy, the rich coffee grinds leaving a trace on his skin.

Before he knew it, the combination of last night and today had washed over him, causing him to drift off to sleep. Alfred noticed the soft, even breathing and smiled. Checking the bedside alarm clock, he realized his lunch break had been up for ten minutes. Matthew would be pissed again, so he'd have to jog back. Throwing back on his shirt and kissing Arthur goodbye, even if the sleeping Englishman didn't know it, he scribbled a quick note and left.

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that Arthur woke up, half-wondering if the whole thing had been a dream. Rubbing his temples (the headache has gone down a bit, but it was still fairly bad) he spotted a piece of paper held down by his cup of tea, which had been sitting out for a while and had likely cooled.

The curious man picked it up and read the disorderly scrawl:

_Dear Artie,_

_Mattie would kill me if I missed more work, or worse, make me do the filing! Sorry I had to leave, want to meet up Sunday at the shop? I have a surprise planned._

_-Love, Alfred_

Arthur sighed. Of course, he'd neglected to think just how much of his shift the American had sacrificed to come and visit him. And to think of all the times he had come to the shop and Alfred had stopped waiting on others just to talk to him. He laughed at his own idiocy. He really should have figured it out sooner.

To think of it, he should have figured himself out first. He'd always felt the urge to scold and correct the barista. Alfred was funny, obnoxious, charming…how could he have not realized _he, _Arthur Kirkland, was in love with him? Some days, life seemed to just want to humble him by showing him what an ignorant git he was for not realizing the most obvious things.

* * *

Alfred burst into the shop, grabbing the apron behind the counter and tying the strings on the dies tight, he quickly apologized to a worn-down Mattie who was grumbling something about irresponsibility.

Turning on his 100% charm smile, he subdued the anger from the now-infatuated teen who desperately wanted a low-foam café latte. Matthew did most of the register work as Alfred caught grains in French presses, ground coffee in his typical dance, making everyone laugh, and operated the espresso machine like a true barista.

Finally, the crowd ebbed away and Alfred sat down at a patron table, panting after grinding so many coffee beans. Matthew, who was washing off mugs, let out a similar sigh. It was the biggest lunch rush they'd had in a while, which was probably due to the onslaught of weekend tourists sightseeing nearby. It was a good thing they had predicted this, or rather that Matthew had predicted this, and bought more ice.

Alfred mopped his forehead with the corner of his apron. "Sometimes, I think it'd be better if I didn't dance. Most people don't like sweat in their coffee."

Matthew looked over, sure enough, it looked like Alfred had just run a mile, "I actually checked Twitter today and I think #Alfred The Dancing Coffeeman is trending up."

Alfred smirked, "Really? I did see a whole bunch of girls around here today with phones taking videos. Looks like I'll be on Facebook tomorrow. Wanna make me a page?"

His brother laughed, but then got more serious. "Seriously Al, what kept you so late, eh? I was dying over here."

The barista gave Matthew a knowing smile, "Not much."

"You know evening rush with the midnight workers is gonna pick up. You'll be here for that, right?" When he failed to get a response, "Right?"

Alfred shrugged. "I'll give it a shot. Maybe I won't get back 'til morning."

A long-suffering sigh was released by Matthew over at the sink. "If you leave soon then I'm making you do the tax returns."

Alfred jumped at 'tax returns'. "Oh god, Mattie! Don't scare me like that! I'll stay, I swear!"

Matthew smiled triumphantly, "I thought so. Oh look," the small bell jingled at the door, "more people. Get behind the counter, Al."

" 'Course Mattie." Alfred got up and hopped over the bar, picking up coffee grinder. Giving his brother a sly smile, he whispered in his ear, "How's Francis?"

Matthew turned bright red, "H-He's fine, why do you want to know, eh?"

"Oh, just checking in with my favorite little brother…and his boyfriend."

"H-He's not my-"

"Yeah, right. Anyways, have fun on your date tonight, I heard you guys talking on the phone. I'll cover the shift."

Matthew was silent for a moment, "Thanks Al. I'll consider that payment for ditching me today."

A megawatt smile flashed. "Anytime, bro."

* * *

At around 10 pm, Matthew frantically threw his apron off and disappeared into the backroom. Alfred was flawlessly handling the rush of night shift workers, grinding coffee as flamboyantly as ever, then pouring the grounds into a filter without missing a single grain. His brother emerged from the back, wearing a casual pair of jeans with a large sweater emblazoned with a red maple leaf.

"Not bad, Mattie." Alfred said approvingly before handing the latte to a businesswoman on her cell.

"Thanks Al. Is he…" Matthew pointed to the door.

"Francis's waiting out there. Hit the road, partner." Winking at his nervous sibling, Alfred turned back to his shop and snapping lids on travel cups.

The door's bell jingled as Matthew left, giving a farewell wave to his brother before meeting up with his boyfriend. Well, Mattie having fun for once was nice, but he had to lay out Arthur's Sunday surprise. Rubbing his hands together, he set to work.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I figured dear Mattie shouldn't get left out :) notice Francis also ran the bar that Arthur got drunk at…ohonhonhon… seemed like the best job for him. I know, Alfred kind of ditched Arthur, but he seriously has left invisible Matthew with crowds of coffee-hungry maniacs for more hours than anyone should, so I suppose he felt guilty. Plus, he has a surprise…..XD R&R, fuel the author


	4. 4: In which there is a surprise

A/N: This is a shorter chapter, because I'm trying to do daily updates this weekend.

* * *

_Sunday…._

Arthur sat down at his regular place on the bar, breathing in the rich, coffee-scented air that reminded him so much of a certain-

"Hey Artie." Alfred walked over and slid a cup of black tea with one sugar across the bar. Arthur deftly caught it and smirked.

"Rather flamboyant. You could have just passed it to me."

Alfred pouted innocently. "What's the fun in owning this joint if I can't do that at least once?"

"You really should act your age." Arthur scolded, taking a sip of his tea.

"Speaking of acting their age, who are you and what did you do to Arthur's wardrobe? I hardly recognized you."

Arthur looked down at his casual blue jeans and t-shirt emblazoned with the Union Jack. Admittedly, this was significantly different from his usual suit and tie, but even a gentleman has a punk side. "Git, I'm still Arthur and these_ are _my clothes."

Alfred shook his head in mock amazement. "Could've fooled me. Now, you ready for your surprise?"

Sighing and trying to restrain himself from correcting the American's grammar, Arthur replied, "Yes, quite."

"Then close your eyes."

Grumbling about idiocy, Arthur did so. He heard the soft chatter of coffee shop patrons and the bubbling of brewing drinks. There was also some shuffling going on behind the counter.

"Okay, now open!" The voice came from farther away. His curiosity piqued.

Arthur did so, and his eyes beheld a…..rather ordinary slip of paper. His eyes quickly read the words on it:

_Meet me in the back room._

Arthur rolled his eyes, trudging off to the door marked "Employees Only!" with a rather artistic eagle on it, no doubt Alfred's work. He could have sworn that the long-haired brunette sitting across the room was watching him intensely, but he was probably just imagining it.

Opening the door, he stepped into the pitch black storage room. The door behind him closed quickly and before he knew it a soft pair of lips was on his own, tasting of coffee and chocolate, warm and full of vibrancy. It didn't take any guesses to know who this was.

"Alfred…" Arthur whispered, finding his lover in the dark and holding him. Alfred hummed in response, sitting down on the bags of coffee stacked up, feeling the beans beneath him shift in the bag as the Brit's and his weight displaced them.

"Surprised?" Alfred asked quietly, delicately speaking right next to the Englishman's ear.

Arthur gave a soft laugh. "I was sort of expecting you to do something like this."

"But you weren't expecting exactly this, right?"

"Well…no."

"Then it's a surprise." His hand clasped Arthur's in the dark, leaving the warmth tingling on his palm. "Y'know, I never said it properly, but Arthur, I love you. I love the way you laugh, scold me, correct my words, get so worked up about some things…" Alfred trailed off, the little light brushes and touches he was giving carried across the rest of what he wanted to say.

Arthur sighed, a relaxed smile on his face even though it was invisible in the dark. "I love you too. The way you never stop that bloody mouth of yours, do everything your own way, your moronic, beautiful smile…" He stopped, as Alfred kissed him again, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine and speeding up the pounding of his heart. It was like the darkness of the room set a magical haze over the scene, creating a gentle hiding place in the darkness where no one could judge them.

Alfred broke away, holding the peaceful Brit in his arms and rocking back and forth slightly. "I wonder, would it be okay if we went out?"

"Of course, you bloody idiot." Arthur nuzzled the American's warm, toned neck.

"I'm glad. Can I take you out to dinner tonight? But no booze." He waved a teasing finger at Arthur, poking him in the shoulder.

"I have no will to get hungover again, thank you very much!" Arthur said, completely truthful.

"Pick you up around eight?"

"Sure."

"Now, all you have to do is get out of here unsuspiciously…"

"That's not even a word, Alfred. Are you trying to make me correct you?"

"Maybe. Anyways, just take the back entrance." Pushing aside the bags of coffee, Alfred fumbled around for the doorknob, eventually finding it amid the dust and cobwebs.

"Where does that even go?" Arthur was a bit dubious, for all he knew it could lead to the sewer system.

Opening the door and allowing a bright afternoon sun to blind them both, Alfred said, "It used to be used for deliveries, but we haven't needed anything recently, so I'll use it for an escape route."

Arthur smirked, still shielding his eyes. "When you're running from paperwork?"

The barista turned and smiled. "More or less. Or I just want to visit you."

Arthur felt his face redden. His boyfriend cupped his tinted face in his hands, rubbing a thumb lovingly over his cheekbones. "You're so cute when you blush."

The Brit would have normally batted this away, but he placed his hand over the others. "I'll see you later, then?" His voice seemed a little breathier, more delicate.

"Of course. And if not, then come by the shop tomorrow. Maybe you'll try the coffee." Alfred smiled, removing his hand and kissing Arthur lightly on the cheek. Blue eyes met green, giving a silent _farewell for now._

Arthur felt the corners of his mouth lift up. Stepping down the delivery stairs, he called back. "I'm more of a tea person."

The American grinned, waving goodbye. "Don't I know it."

* * *

A/N: Okay, this will be the end if no one wants a new chapter, cause I guess this is a nice place to drop the storyline. Review or PM me if you think otherwise, because I'd like to know your opinion.


	5. 5: In which pasta is eaten

A/N: Okay, due to urging reviews, I've decided to make another chapter. A longer chapter to make up for the last one being a bit short on words. Enjoy!

* * *

At promptly eight o'clock, a knock at the door jolted Arthur Kirkland out of his novel and back to reality. Straightening his white dress shirt as he got up, he walked over and opened the door. Standing outside it was a surprisingly clean Alfred F. Jones, dressed to the nines in a black tux and a star-spangled tie.

Rolling his eyes at the ever-excessive display of patriotism, Arthur was greeted by a soft kiss on the cheek, causing an immediate irritated reaction. "Don't do that when we're still in the building, git."

"Hello to you too, Artie." Alfred said, smiling his trademark grin, wide with a hint of mischief. The British gentleman muttered something about bloody wankers but the beginnings of smile edged the corners of his mouth up.

"I do suppose you have somewhere planned?" Arthur said, hoping the forgetful and oblivious American would know a good place to eat.

"Of course! It's a really sweet Italian restaurant. Mattie and I know the owners. It's another pair of brothers, actually, and one's really nice! The other…he's…" Alfred shuffled a little, "Well, Lovi's nice, I guess."

"Your confidence amazes me as always, Alfred." Arthur shook his head, sighing.

"Well, I'm the hero of caffeine-addicted business workers everywhere, so of course I'm confident!" The barista grabbed his boyfriend's hand, pulling him out the door before he could protest against his choice in dinner.

After a journey spanning only a couple of blocks, they managed to get to the restaurant. From the outside alone, Arthur started worrying if this was the right place. The entire outside looked like someone had taken a rich Italian villa and dropped it in the middle of D.C. A lit-up sign out front named the establishment as "O Sole Mio". Alfred grinned when he caught sight of it, but first whispered into the Brit's ear.

"Don't worry about PDA here, no one will mind. Especially the owners. Everyone here is more than gay-friendly." He said in a low voice.

"I take it that's why you picked it?" Arthur raised a curious bushy eyebrow.

"No, I picked it 'cause it's got the best pasta in the world! You'll see." The trademark grin made one more appearance before they stepped inside.

The Brit had to take his former assumption back. It wasn't just the outside that looked like an imported villa. The inside was lushly decorated with marble pillars, exquisite paintings, and impressive statues that made him wonder how high the bill was going to be. It was like they were trying to bring the Renaissance back. People crowded the small waiting area, chatting and admiring the décor.

A peppy brunette wearing a chef's hat stepped out of a corridor, and when he saw the American, he immediately hugged him like a teddy bear. "Ve, I'm glad you could make it! We have your table all ready, Alfred!" His accent sounded like he had flown in with the restaurant.

Alfred laughed, waiting until the eager cook let go before explaining to a rather confused Arthur. "This is Feliciano, he's one of the owners. You saw all the amazing art here, right? It's all his, probably the best artist I've ever seen!"

"Talented, that's quite true." Arthur nodded, following the two as they headed for a table in the back. The couple sat down as Feliciano removed the reserved card from between a pair of lit candles.

"Ve, back soon with menus!" The Italian seemed to waltz off, humming a little tune to himself.

"Quite the happy sort, isn't he?" Arthur muttered, looking across at a rather delighted American.

"Yeah, Feli's nice. Always has his head stuck up in the clouds. Doesn't stop him from cooking like a god, though." Alfred's smile seemed even warmer in the low light, about five times as cute, Arthur thought.

"I see what you meant about PDA. He's quite the affectionate host." From farther off in the restaurant, he could hear loud Italian cursing and a strange noise that sounded like "Fusososososo" Strange place for a date.

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "You bet. It almost made Mattie faint when he just ran up and hugged him. Still does."

The Brit chuckled, just as the menus arrived. They were a rather fancy, covered in red velvet which again left Arthur wondering how much the meal would cost. Feliciano wiped a bit of seat from his brow. "Sorry I took so long, but my _fratello _was a little angry in the kitchen."

Alfred just smiled comfortingly. "Don't worry, Feli, we didn't wait long. How's Ludwig, by the way, I haven't seen him in a while."

Feliciano blushed like a schoolgirl. "Oh, Ludwig's great! Just perfect! Um, so…Wine suggestions, anybody?"

Alfred exchanged glances with the infamously intolerant Brit. "No, not tonight."

Arthur did have a question though. "Do you have any recommendation for pasta, though?" He noticed Alfred wince out of the corner of his eye. "What?"

"PASTAAA~!" Feliciano's eyes took on a dreamy haze. He started gyrating up and down as if someone had electrocuted him. "Of course!" The next part was unintelligibly happy Italian, while Feliciano started gesturing broadly with his hands, seemingly unaware of the mild distress he was causing the customers. Which Alfred cut short by pointing at an item on the menu.

"Could we just have number seventeen?" He said, trying to get the enthusiastic chef back from whatever food fantasy he had imagined.

"Oh…Yes, that one! Okeydokey!" Feliciano took up the menus and sauntered off in a carefree manner. Arthur looked over with an expression of _What in the bloody hell just happened? _on his face.

Alfred looked sheepish. "Yeah, I forgot to mention that. Pasta's kind of his…obsession."

The Brit raised an eyebrow. "That's an understatement."

"Maybe it is. But hey, you won't mind once you taste the food. Almost as good as my coffee." He smiled, the obvious self-promotion not lost on Arthur.

"I'll have to try the coffee sometime then. Is Matthew managing the shop again?"

Alfred reclined slightly in his chair, a triumphant smile on his face. "Yeah, 'cause I covered for him when he had a date with his boyfriend. Hah, he didn't think I knew. As if the constant phone calls, text messages, and poetic diary entries weren't enough."

Arthur looked over at the mischievous barista. "You read his diary?"

"Naw, just walked into the room when he was writing them. He was all "What rhymes with French?" and anyways, I'm not that big on invading people's privacy."

"Oh really?" The Brit's tone was rather sarcastic. "Like carrying someone home to their apartment and sleeping in their bed, not to mention getting up, cooking them breakfast, and returning later with a cup of tea."

A bit of confidence ran out of his inflated ego. "That was…different."

Arthur shot back, "Someone you'd only met the past Monday?"

Alfred was about to give a comeback, but paused. "Wow, really? I thought I'd known you a bit longer. Well, maybe rescuing you from a mugger just qualifies as a good base for a relationship."

The Brit thought for a second. "It's strange to think we have a common criminal to thank for this. I don't suppose that I would have come back to the shop the next day and been seduced by your coffee grinding dance." He finished jokingly.

"It's pretty great, huh? I need to make an FB page for the shop so people can share their coffee-dance stories." He winked a sky-blue eye at Arthur. "Unless you don't like other people watching me?"

The Brit blushed. "Oh, sod off, you git."

"I thought so." Alfred smiled triumphantly, as full of himself as always. "I'll be sure to friend you first when I get that page. Once Mattie lets me use it. He keeps all the financial stuff on it, and he backs everything up before I get on. He's afraid I'll crash it, but it was just that one time!"

Arthur looked over amusedly. "You had crashed the computer before?"

The American's gaze dropped to the tablecloth. "Seriously, how was I supposed to know the download site was corrupt? And what are you supposed to do when it sets it on fire?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You can't honestly think I'd believe that you set it on fire with a simple virus."

Alfred grinned. "I'm sure Mattie will rant about it if you ask him."

"You are the strangest person I've ever met, Alfred." Arthur shook his head, sighing resignedly.

"And you say that like it's a bad thing." He winked, the edge of his smile lifting up into a mischievous grin, obnoxious as always.

After a space of time filled by small talk and a few more proclamations about Alfred's grammar, a rather cheerful, olive-skinned waiter walked over, making Arthur wonder if everyone who worked here had an allergy to sadness.

"_¡__Hola, mi amigo! _Special meal for our favorite _americano_!" The waiter's voice had a Spanish lilt to it and his eyes sparkled as he approached the table with a huge tray casually held by his right hand. It was clear that he truly enjoyed his job.

"Hey Antonio!" Alfred greeted the waiter, then introduced him to Arthur. "Artie, Antonio Fernandez Carriendo. Antonio, Arthur Kirkland." He looked over at both of them, making sure he got the complete names right.

Antonio waved a dismissive hand. "Just call me Antonio. You must have heard Lovi earlier, right? He shouted so loud I think he broke a glass. All I said was-"

Alfred cut him off. "-Yeah, we heard him. Got my number seventeen? I hope you remembered my garlic bread."

The Spaniard nodded. "_Si, est__á__ aquí. _So, tell me…" He propped his head up on the table in a gossiping fashion. "Where'd you pick this one up? Don't tell me it was...?" He raised an eyebrow conspiratorially, looking over at a confused and somewhat irritated Arthur and then back at Alfred.

The American rolled his eyes. "For the last time, I only went to a gay bar once! And that was because you and Gilbert dragged me there!" He looked pointedly at the Spanish waiter, who just smiled sheepishly. Arthur was trying to conceal the fact he was laughing.

"Oh, come on, Al, you know you wanted to find _un novio_. We were just hooking you up!" Antonio snickered, getting up from the table.

"That's a load of bull. Can I get my order now?" Alfred said grumpily, pointing to the tray still perfectly level in his hand.

"Oh, _si, lo siento, _I got caught up in all the memories." He set down a huge plate of assorted pastas, complete with a basket of garlic bread on the side, and just as he did so, another boy in a chef's hat, remarkably similar to Feliciano if not for his darker hair and scowling face, came up behind the waiter and grabbed him by the ear.

"Ai, _Dios Mio, _let go, Lovi!" Antonio winced before forcibly being tugged past a marble statue in the direction of the kitchen.

"You've been out too fucking long. Orders are piling up, you tomato bastard!" The boy dragged him back to the kitchen; ignoring his pleas and forcing him back to work.

Arthur let out a low whistle. "It seems that whenever I think this place can't be more unusual, it takes it as a challenge to prove me wrong."

"Yeah, that's Lovino, Feli's twin. Like night and day, y'know? Anyways, let's dig in!" He focused the attention back on the rich plate filled with noodles of so many shapes and variations that Arthur wondered if they could finish it. Then the delicious, savory smell of it tickled his nose, and he was a little less apprehensive.

Arthur had to agree with him; it was the best pasta he'd ever had. He was so overwhelmed by the harmonious flavors that when he put the first forkful in his mouth Alfred laughed and tried to take a picture of his expression with a smartphone. Resulting in Arthur scowling and trying to cover up the camera lens with his hand, of course. By the time the meal was finished, even the meal-a-minute American was full.

Alfred raised his hand in the air. "Check, please!"

Antonio, who had narrowly escaped Lovino's wrath and managed to strike up a conversation with a Spanish-speaking couple a few booths down, noticed the customer's summon. "_¿__El cheque? Un momento, se__ñ__or._"

Alfred snorted a bit. "Figures. Once Toni starts speaking his own language, it'll take a while for him to switch over. Hey, going back to your apartment afterwards, right?"

Arthur nodded, blearily blinking his eyes a few times as if awakening from a nap. He stretched his arms, yawning. What was it about good food that made you so tired?

Antonio carried over a small black book, which supposedly contained the receipt for the meal. The waiter placed it on the table, looking almost…apologetic?

"Sorry about this," he said, speaking to the American, "you know, if it is too much." Arthur woke up from his haze. How much _had _the meal cost? Was he forcing Alfred to pay some exorbitant price?

"Oh, no worries dude." Alfred opened up the small portfolio and took a slip of paper out. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "No…this is way too much! Tell Feli that!" Arthur reached into his pocket, ready to help cushion the cost.

Antonio shook his head and sighed. "I already asked. They insisted."

Alfred sighed. "Fine. Tell them thanks, but they really don't have to pay me back anymore." Wait, pay him back?

The American withdrew a check from the book, rolled his eyes and tucked it into his wallet. Now, the poor British gentleman was hopelessly lost. "Alfred, what-"

It seemed to dawn on the oblivious barista that the normal observer might be confused. "Oh, yeah, I never really told you how we met the Vargas brothers. Y'see when they first started out, they needed a loan, so Mattie and I both insisted we'd help. That was a while ago, but they still feel like they owe us. Well, Feli wants to repay us, but Lovino just doesn't like owing people. So I end up getting a check every time I come here." He muttered under his breath, "But really, when I mean check, I mean one for _me _to pay…"

Frankly, Arthur couldn't be surprised with eccentricities anymore. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "How much was the loan? I mean, if it was only a little…"

Alfred looked a little embarrassed. "Well, it was a couple grand…"

"You honestly lent them thousands of dollars? Those two?" It was hard to believe anyone would trust those two scatterbrained brothers with a fork, let alone that much.

The American winced. "Well, yeah. It's why we didn't open our coffee shop sooner. The money came from our own fund, but really, we managed to save it up in no time, plus Feli kept sending us food. He's almost like an old grandmother. 'Eat up, you skinny beanstalk!' except not like that." He mimicked the voice of an elderly woman.

Arthur just sighed. "The more I learn about you, Alfred, the more I wonder." They walked out of the restaurant, holding hands as they trod the streets of the city.

* * *

A/N: Umm…hello? *surrenders immediately* Sorry the update took so long, but I wasn't planning on continuing, so I didn't, then I got a few reviews saying I should, so I did, then I got writer's block and...sorry!

Anyways, it's up, and in other news, a new chapter of So Let's Set The World On Fire should be coming out soon, probably this week, and I'll be starting a new story this week and seeing how it goes. Stay tuned :)

Spanish translations for those who need it:

"_¡Hola, mi amigo! _Hello, my friend!

americano: American

_Si, está aquí: _Yes, it's here.

un novio: a boyfriend

Dios Mio: my god

_¿El cheque? Un momento, señor: _The check? One moment, sir.

My Spanish may be off, so if anyone is bilingual feel free to correct me. I have been studying for the exam, so I hope it's right :P

Anything to OOC, off, just weird, or not logical in an extreme way, review please and give me a written slap to the face for messing up XD Also, positive reviews definitely boost my chapter-writing willpower, so that's always reccommended :)


	6. 6: In which coffee is poured

A/N: Well, I _was _planning on making this the M chapter, but due to the recent deleting I think I'll make it fluff. I like this one and don't want to see it lost. Sorry for the long wait, I would make up some half-assed apology but the truth was I got writer's block and couldn't update for a while.

* * *

They had barely walked a block in the cold night before Arthur sat down on a metal bench, too tired to continue. His companion just sat down beside him, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It seemed that the good meal had made the Brit more than a little drowsy.

"Artie?" Alfred shook the Englishman's shoulders slightly to prevent him from drifting off.

"Hm?" Arthur groaned, his eyes half-closed, shaking his head slightly to ward off drowsiness. Alfred smiled. If only that normally grumpy face could look so innocent all the time.

"Come on, we have to get you home. You seem to make a habit of falling asleep as far away as possible." Alfred teased, poking his shoulder and expecting a telling off. He didn't get one, because the Brit was fast asleep.

His messy blonde hair brushed against Alfred's jawline as his head rested on the barista's broad shoulder. The American chuckled slightly, staying still for a few minutes to take in the soft lavender scent of Arthur's hair, the way his surprisingly long eyelashes somehow managed to make his eyebrows look cute. Okay, maybe the last bit was his hormones talking.

Slowly rising up from the seat, Alfred set the Brit's head down gently on the top of the bench before hoisting him (with difficulty, it must be said) onto his back. As soon as Alfred had negotiated the limp body into a piggyback position, Arthur sighed lightly in his sleep. _If only he could be so sensitive all the time, _Alfred thought wistfully.

He started walking towards the apartment. After he'd carried Arthur home so many times, he wouldn't be surprised if the doorman took no notice of an American carrying a passed-out Brit.

Arthur had a déjà vu moment when he woke up, again, in his own bed, again, with practically no idea how he had gotten there, again, with Alfred sleeping next to him.

_Again. _

Arthur looked down at himself. Apparently the American had enough sense to take off his jacket and tie so they wouldn't get wrinkled. Now, why had he fallen asleep this time? He didn't have a drink, so…

His wandering gaze fell on Alfred's sleeping face, completely smooth and pale, framed by golden hair falling perfectly over his forehead with one stubborn curl sticking up in the air. His face seemed so empty without his usual glasses, open and strong, his mouth parted ever so slightly, allowing a feather-soft breath past every now and then.

"Alfred?" He said quietly, causing the barista to crack open an eye, revealing the brilliant blue shade of the iris.

"Hey Artie." Alfred said casually, as if this was the most normal circumstance in the world.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to get up now to…" Arthur felt the blood rush to his cheeks, making them turn a red he was thankful that the dark hid.

Alfred, thankfully, almost intuitively knew what he wanted. "Of course." The bed shift slightly as the American wrapped his arms around the Brit, pulling them closer together. Arthur buried his face in Alfred's neck, breathing in that warm coffee scent that never really faded. He sighed softly, placing a light kiss on the tanned skin while gently, slowly loosening the patriotic tie.

Alfred ran a hand through Arthur's hair and briefly nuzzled his hairline, taking in the faint, clean smell. "Hey, Arthur?"

The Brit relaxed, resting his hands on Alfred's collar, fingers poised to undo the top button. "Yes, love?"

"You don't think you'd want to come by the shop tomorrow so I can get you to try the coffee, right?" Alfred grinned.

"You git, ask me that now, will you?" The Brit scolded, then pressed a quick kiss to his neck, "How could I refuse?"

The American ruffled Arthur's hair. "I'll hold you to that."

"Maybe. Now stay still so I can get this troublesome shirt off of you."

"Fine by me."

* * *

The bell jingled happily as it announced the entrance of a British businessman, who adjusted his tie before sitting down at his regular place along the bar. He waved to the barista behind the counter, who gave him a quick wink before filling a few ceramic cups with hot brew and delivering them to eager customers over at the delivery area.

Alfred finished his jaunt and motioned for his brother to take the helm of the restaurant. Matthew just rolled his eyes but started operating the steam-filled contraptions with some degree of expertise. The bustling crowd chattered among the patriotic images painted on the walls and the eagle clutching the olive branch seemed to have a twinkle in its eye.

"Howdy, Sir Kirkland!" Alfred said in an upbeat tone, addressing the grumpy Brit after quickly wiping his hands on the coffee-stained apron around his waist.

"Good morning to you too, Alfred." Arthur replied, a slight smile on his lips.

The man behind the counter picked up a paper menu and pretended to look at it. "Well, let's see, what would you like to try?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "You know the only kinds of coffee I've had are regular and decaf. Why don't you recommend something, master barista?"

"Well, now that you mention it…" Alfred acted as though he hadn't thought through it all before, "I do have something especially good…"

"Oh, get on with it, you git." The Brit said, his tone more teasing than stern.

"Okay then! Back in a second!" Alfred jumped over to a huge machine equipped with buttons and knobs of every description, a few light blinked as he adjusted the controls. Filling up a measuring cup with water, Alfred flew across the counter with practiced grace. He picked up a package of fine grounds, tossing it into a proper compartment.

Arthur raised a large eyebrow as the barista grabbed a small glass and pulled a gleaming chrome lever, allowing a small stream of murky, light brown liquid to fall out of the machine and into a cup. Adding a few more touches, Alfred flamboyantly set it down in front of his mildly amused patron.

"Very nice, but I must admit I prefer the coffee grinding dance." Arthur said, picking up the cup of freshly-brewed coffee to examine it further. A small white heart of made of cream sat in the middle of the surface, making the Brit groan from the sheer amount of sappy infatuation in this gesture.

"Come on Artie, just take a sip! A small one though, it's potent stuff." Alfred watched with interest as Arthur slowly, cautiously tasted the drink.

It was a small explosion of bitter, intense flavor, the classic coffee taste stinging his taste buds like no other he'd had. An entirely new experience, surprisingly addictive and extremely hot.

"Wow…" Arthur said, still reeling from the taste. Alfred leaned forward, expecting praise.

"So?"

"Not half bad. What's it called?" The Brit asked, but when he saw the American's eager look, he had a feeling he'd be getting the long version.

"Well, it's made with the pinnacle of coffee creation, the rich, earthy taste followed smoothly with just enough acidity and bitterness. Finely-ground specialty grains pressurized with boiling water, the perfect ratio of delicious and necessity, the best bit of caffeine ever to come your way, the one delicacy that makes me a true barista…" Alfred paused for dramatic effect, leaving his audience of one English gentleman on edge.

"Espresso." He smiled broadly, while Arthur just shook his head and clapped sarcastically.

"Bravo, Alfred, bravo. Quite melodramatic, aren't you?"

The American grinned slyly. "Aw, you know you love it."

Arthur punched his shoulder, master barista or no, "Git."

But he was smiling too.

* * *

A/N: That's it! I had a feeling a title drop was a good way to end it. I really liked this fic, but parts became hard to write, so I think this is goodbye. This one may be finished, but be sure to check up on my other fics, most of them USUK. Oh, self-promotion…I can try XD

Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading! Reviews are my writing fuel!

~Black Rose Heart~


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